Brrrrrnng!

An alarm clock from somewhere rang so hard it threw itself off a shelf with a crash.

“Whuh? What’s—aaaah!” I cried, tumbling out of bed along with my blanket.

The whole room was shaking under the stampede of many feet hitting the floor. What started as a small kerfuffle between the other girls turned into a brouhaha, then a sustained hullabaloo, only to end in a general hurly-burly of rigmarole, with enough ballyhoo to wake the dead, before I'd even found my shoes.

“That’s my compact!” someone cried to continue the madness.

“You left it on my side of the table!”

“You don’t have a side!”

“Watch out, Sally!” Mr. Narrator shouted between my ears.

I ducked. An errant hairbrush sailed over my head and hit the wall behind me with a loud klonk, taking some plaster with it. When I dared to stand up, I saw the squirrel standing on the trunk in front of June Rabbit’s bed.

“Get off!” June bellowed.

“First give me back my blouse,” the squirrel countered loudly, quickly slapping the locks shut. “Then you can get your fancy schmancy shoes.”

“I have an audition today, Shirley!”

“That’s what you always say. An audition today! For what? Street Crosser Number 5? You don’t need my blouse for that!”

“I’ll remember this, squirrel! When my name's up in lights—”

“—you can stretch out your own blouse at that,” Shirley interjected coolly. “In the meantime, hand it over!”

June took a deep breath and started to turn a bit barrel-chested. Then she caught my gaze. “Whaddya you lookin’ at, Salamander?”

“Well now, at least she got your name right,” Mr. Narrator noted cheerfully. “That’s a step in the right direction. And speaking of steps…”

“I gotta get to the lot!” I gasped, jumping up. “Gotta get the worm—er—job!”

If only I had…

Coffee?

The scent wafted in on a thick white cloud, the nearest end momentarily taking the form of a finger that flicked me right on the snout.

“Coming!” I sang out, zigzagging around the other girls fighting before entering the hallway.

The other end of the welcome whiff, however, was Madame Bovary. She was sitting in the small communal kitchen, draining the last drop of coffee from her cup. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Sally?”

“Er… Yeah…” I gulped in disappointment, realizing the coffee pot was empty, too.

She nodded. “Weekly rent’s due tonight. I’ll prorate it this time, since you’re new.”

Another hard swallow. “Sounds more than square, ma’am.”

Mack the Bulldog saw me coming. With a sad shake of his head, he opened the studio gate with several clangs.

“Straight and narrow, Salamander,” he reminded me. “I don’t want no trouble on my lot, you hear?”

“Yeah yeah, sure sure,” I said, waving him off.

It was still early morning, with the sun just rolling around on the lower edge of the sky.

“Maybe he’s sleeping in,” Mr. Narrator suggested. “Pay’s the same, either way.”

I thought about that for a moment too long.

“It was a joke, Sally.”

Yeah? Except ain’t the sun a character too?

“I suppose you’re right,” he conceded.

Let’s hope no one reimagines him.

At that, Mr. Narrator gasped but said nothing.

Even with my best effort to get there on time, there were only two jobs left on the call board.

“Piano Catcher?” I questioned indignantly. “Who catches pianos for a livin’?”

“I’m not sure about this other one either, Sally. Dynamite Tester sounds dangerous.”

“Eh, this is the golden era of industry,” I replied aloud, tearing off the scrap of paper. “I’m sure safety’s built in by now!” I turned the paper around and read it. “Let’s find this Backlot C4.”

Our destination was around the side of Soundstage Four, a long-abandoned rusty hull of a warehouse. We were off the animated path a bit; concrete slabs gave way to gravel, then to dirt, before opening onto a rounded-out quarry. Mounds of earth were on one side, with stacks of wooden crates on the other.

A long-faced foreman was waiting at the entrance with a clipboard and pencil, his mule ears poking through holes in his hard hat.

I summoned my card with a four-fingered flourish. “Name’s Sally Salamander, and I’m here to earn my bread and butter!”

He nodded slowly as he wrote something down, his hoof somehow grasping the pencil. “Sally Salamander… Name noted. Follow me.”

“Don’t ya need to check out my statisticals?” I urged, pushing my card toward him.

“No experience necessary,” was his vague reply. “This way.”

“Oh!” Mr. Narrator chirped. "Sally, look sharp!"

Another card materialized in front of me with a tantalizing float.

═════════ ✦ ✦ ✦ ═════════

GIG ACQUIRED: DYNAMITE TESTER

Skill Category Required: N/A (No Category Necessary)

Specific Skill Required: N/A (No Specific Skill Necessary)

Rank Required: N/A (All Ranks Accepted)

Location: Backlot C4

SPP: Day Rate (Female)

Employer: MMP — Studio Management

Description: Test dynamite as directed by Mr. Foreman.

Status: IN PROGRESS

System Says: Congratulations on your first official gig, Sally! Every legend starts somewhere.

═════════ ✦ ✦ ✦ ═════════

The female diminutive mark on the card irked me, but the system saying was a pleasant distraction.

Legend, huh?

Yeah. I can see it, if I squint hard enough!

“And I can see Mr. Foreman,” Mr. Narrator said dryly. “Walking out of view.”

“Whoops!” I scrambled to catch up, tucking the card away in my dress sleeve. He led me to a flat surface in the rough center of the lot.

After drawing a gigantic X on the ground, he pointed and said, “Stand here.”

I looked around, a bit confused. “Where’s the plunger?”

“Plunger?”

“You know, the thing you push down to set off the dynamite at a safe distance.”

“Too expensive,” he replied. “Better to do it the old-fashioned way. Hold this.” He reached behind his back and held out a stick of dynamite.

I took a good look at one end but couldn't find the fuse. “It don’t go off unless you light it, right?”

He was already gone. “Already did!” he shouted at me from the other side of the lot.

A spark was sizzling at the end I hadn’t inspected yet.

“Good heavens!” I shouted as I fumbled to throw the stick of dynamite away.

KA-BOOM!

The world flashed with painful black-and-white spark lightning.

Woozily, I exhaled a puff of smoke and executed ELASTIC RECOVERY [BASIC]. However, even with several wet-dog shakes, I couldn’t shrug the explosion off.

═════════ ✦ ✦ ✦ ═════════

STATUS EFFECT ACQUIRED: SEEING STARS

Description: You literally see stars. (Not those ones, the other ones.)

Duration: Until it’s no longer funny.

System Says: Use your smarts, Sally!

═════════ ✦ ✦ ✦ ═════════

“Smarts…?” I mumbled at the blurry card between the two orbits of stars dancing around my head. “It certainly smarts!”

“I think the system means, if we see someone wearing a hard hat in a construction area, we probably need one, too,” Mr. Narrator replied, also under the wobbly effect.

“Woulda been grateful for that advice five minutes ago,” I snapped, slapping the stars away. One took a swat straight on the rear I didn’t know it had, turning over its shoulder to stick out its tongue before fading away.

The foreman materialized within the surrounding and settling dust. He was nodding, taking careful measurements from my feet to the edge of the blackened zone around me.

“Decent-sized radius,” he noted, scribbling with his pencil. “Consistent spread with a nice even char on the spiked edges. Looks like this lot is good.”

“Don’t you have some explaining to do?” I snarled, heat rising up from my back. “For what you just did?”

“You tested the dynamite,” he replied, jotting down some numbers. “I just got you started, that’s all.”

“Without explainin’ nothing!” I shouted.

Mr. Foreman was too busy writing down the outcome of my explosion to answer, which made me all the angrier.

“Erm, Sally… Not that your rage isn’t justified or anything, but you might want to take a breath or two…”

“Keeping me ignorant is indignant!” I flared, first verbally, then literally. Flames shot out all around me as my rage hit the boiling point, with a steam whistle sounding from my ears.

═════════ ✦ ✦ ✦ ═════════

PASSIVE ABILITY ACTIVATED: BORN OF FLAME

Current Form: Lit Fuse

Description: Danger! Function follows form!

System Says: Temper, temper!

═════════ ✦ ✦ ✦ ═════════

“That’s right!” I shouted. “I’m a lit fuse about to go off just like—”

No, I wasn’t the lit fuse. The entire wooden box tower of dynamite next to Mr. Foreman was!

I retreated quickly. “Boss—”

“Not now, Miss Salamander. Taking measurements.”

“But Boss!”

KABOOM!

The tester instantly became the testee. Even his hardhat wasn’t enough to save him from his sudden, unnecessary trip into the sky. As he started to disappear into the horizon, he shouted, “Yooooouuuu’rrrrre fiiiiiiireed!”

I wiped at some soot on my face and shouted back. “I still get paid for time served, right?”

I never did hear his reply, but I got my answer. A small square of dark paper drifted out of the sky on lazy, curved diagonals. It settled right between my feet. With a hard swallow, I picked it up and read it out loud.

═════════ ✦ ✦ ✦ ═════════

MIRACLE IN MOTION PICTURES

PAYROLL RECEIPT — CARBON COPY

═════════ ✦ ✦ ✦ ═════════

Employee: S. Salamander

Gig: Dynamite Tester, Backlot C4

Status: INCOMPLETE

Hours worked: 0.5

Rate: Day rate (pending completion)

Completion bonus: N/A

Deductions: Property damage (1 backlot)

TOTAL SPP EARNED: 0

Studio Management: Strike one, Sally! Better luck next time! ☆

═════════ ✦ ✦ ✦ ═════════

“Better luck next time, indeed, Sally,” Mr. Narrator said as I stuffed the receipt away in my sleeve. “Don't let this small setback get you down.”

“Yeah, sure...” I muttered.

But I ain't looking forward to strike three, that's for sure.